The Green-Eyed Monster
by ThinkingBeforeTalking
Summary: Buon appetito, CHUMP!
1. Chapter 1

"Ok, is this normal? My idea of normal just isn't what it used to be. A lot of weird shit happens around here ..."

It was the middle of the afternoon on an unusually warm day for this time of year. We were standing beside our cars on a quiet suburban street, observing an uncommon sight from a safe distance. There was a 2-year old bull moose bedded down under a shady tree in Mr Owen's front yard. Making itself comfortable the way only a moose could, he was a handsome specimen.

"We don't usually get moose in these parts, most likely came over from the Big Horns or Montana maybe. So this would be in the not-normal-but-could-happen category."

Moose were not usually aggressive and normally slow-moving but they did move surprisingly quickly if provoked or startled. One this young and this big would be dangerous for any two legged creature regardless of temperament. Vic and I had notified Mr Owen and his neighbors to stay indoors for now.

"I would have called Game and Fish but they didn't have anyone close enough. Omar said he could do it."

"It's huge, I've never been this close to a moose before, it's as big as my truck. How are we gonna move it?"

"Omar's bringing an extra large horse trailer."

I scrubbed non-existent debris from the asphalt road with my boot and looked in the direction that Omar might be traveling, in a poor attempt to disguise my wrongdoing. But Vic was never one to fall for such an obvious smokescreen.

"That's quite a lot of favors you're going to owe him, ... wait, you better not have promised him something I KNOW you wouldn't have promised him without asking me first ... you wouldn't do something so inconsiderate would you, no, I know you wouldn't, you're not that kinda guy ..."

She rambled in the usual question and answer repartee with herself, meant as a warning shot across my starboard bow that I would soon be the recipient of an ominous scolding in the next wave.

"It was an emergency, besides, he just likes your company."

"WALT! NO! I'm not having dinner with him."

"It's for the people of Absaroka Vic ... " I thought perhaps appealing to her sense of civic duty would lighten my sentence.

"He's a nice guy ... most of the time. He finds you to be a breath of fresh air in a town of overly polite citizenry." It sounded like flattery in my head but her expression told me otherwise.

"I don't like the idea that you're pimping me out for equipment! Isn't there room in the budget for these kinds of things?"

"Not if you like getting paid."

"UGH! So my choices are to keep the moose or have dinner with Omar?" She crossed her arms at the lack of options, pursing her lips while making her way back to the truck. "Fine! But he better take me somewhere nice."

She was annoyed and rightly so, in my moment of weakness I had succumbed to Omar's unrelenting pleas for dinner with Vic. I could tell the issue was far from over. Thankfully, getting the moose resettled was going to take several hours, it would give me time to formulate a rescue plan for myself.

"Sorry I'm late Walt, had to get these darts filled with the right sedative from the vet." Omar had pulled up in his truck next to ours forming an informal barricade between us and the moose.

"Hoooeee! You weren't kiddin' that is a big one. Ok, let's get this party started!"

Omar was always happiest when he got to shoot something, even with a dart rifle. He relaxed his shoulders, took a deep breath, aimed and fired. The dart left the rifle with a whoosh.

"Uh Omar ... you missed ... and it looks kinda riled up." The moose stood up to face us with a glare and a threatening pose, it had lowered it's head and raised it's hackles warning us to stop whatever we had planned.

"Damn! Well these dart rifles aren't balanced like a real gun. I only got this one cause I thought I could use it on the ex if she came asking for more money."

"Maybe you shouldn't have told me that."

Vic was tugging at my jacket, but I was distracted with Omar trying to unjam the locking mechanism.

"Uh ... Walt, Omar ... Walt ... WALT!"

Exasperated, we both looked at Vic to address her protestations.

"WHAT?!"  
"WHAT?!"

She redirected our gaze towards the scene in front of us. There was a 6.5ft moose thundering down the street, charging towards us carrying its entire thousand pounds of angry. We gathered our wits and hid behind the makeshift truck barrier.

"OH HELL! SHOOT IT OMAR!"

"I got it, hang on!" He loaded the unjammed rifle with the dart and fired.

"... GOT IT! See plenty of time ... eh, sorry about that, I haven't used it in a while, got stuck ... "

The moose stumbled and wobbled it's way down onto it's knees, his head weaving left to right waiting for the drug to take full effect. There was only a hair more than 50ft to spare between us and it's raging ire.

"Does that face you're making mean I don't get dinner Vicky?"

"You better believe it great white hunter! I nearly got moose up my ass, YOU JERK!" Vic walked back to her truck and drove away pushing a large quantity of dust and exhaust in our direction.

"I think she's really warming up to me Walt, last year she would have shot me."

"How are we gonna get that Moose in the trailer?"

"That's why you're the Sheriff ... normally I would just gut them where they fall."

"Thanks Omar."

.  
.

"How did it go?"

It was late by the time I got back to the cabin, Vic was curled up on the couch reading and there was nothing more I'd rather do than settle my weary bones next to her.

"Well, we took it back up into the Big Horns and let it go, hopefully it stays there."

"You want dinner? I made lasagne."

"I'm starving, but I think I need a quick shower first."

"Sure, I'll warm it up for you."

When I got out of the shower, Vic was sitting at the table nibbling on the wholesome plate of food she had prepared for me.

"Smells great, thanks for making dinner." She stayed and sat across from me while I ate, her relentless eyes watching me take every mouthful.

"What?"

"Nothing ..."

"Why are you looking at me like I did something wrong?"

"Can't I look at you without you jumping to conclusions? But since you brought it up, next time you want to barter me for favors, I'd appreciate a heads up."

"Ok, now that I know I won't do it again ... starting next week."

"YOU DIDN'T?"

"I needed his truck to haul the darn moose and he wouldn't budge unless I got you to reconsider."

"RECONSIDER?! I didn't get a chance to consider it in the first place!

"Before you knock me over with that skillet, I'm going with you so you won't have to suffer alone."

"Why would you think that I would resort to violence. There are SO many other ways to get even."

Her unsettling tone would have struck fear into any man's heart, a chunk of lasagne lodged in my throat momentarily when swallowing suddenly required a little more effort.

"Besides, the revenge I have in mind is far more subtle and uncomfortable ... oh, here you might need these after dinner." Getting up from the table, she left a box of medication next to my plate.

"Anti-histamines? Why?"

"I added shrimp to the lasagne. Buon appetito, CHUMP!"

It's true what they say about a woman scorned, my mild seafood food allergy was perhaps one secret I should have kept. Her exit from the scene and into the bedroom timed perfectly with the hives announcing themselves via the familiar intense itching and tiny red bumps welting on my skin.


	2. Chapter 2

"What's wrong with your face? You look like you've been pelted with buckshot."

"Retribution."

Two days had passed since my food was intentionally sabotaged, the symptoms had dissipated but the results were still present. At least, the after care from Vic's guilty conscience had been pleasant, it more than made up for any superficial discomfort.

"Boy, she is feisty, makes me want her even more ..." He stopped himself from elaborating further, scrambling to explain away his remark.

I was certain he hadn't meant to say it out loud but I wasn't even sure I wanted him thinking it. Perhaps he needed a reminder of what friends could and couldn't share, so I faced him with a widened stance, broadened my shoulders and rested my hand over the gun holster on my hip just to make sure there was a proper understanding.

"I mean you know if you bought the farm or somethin' ... NO, I mean if something terrible happened, um no, I mean if you weren't in the picture ... uh ..."

My steely glare dogged his wavering confidence while he babbled his way towards an acceptable answer, he would get there eventually.

"Walt, on my honor as a hunter and a friend, I will never ever try anything with Vic, with you in or out of the picture."

And there it was. Satisfied that we had reached an unambiguous definition of boundaries where Vic was involved, my attention was now drawn to the commotion in Omar's backyard, or rather the manicured terrace, a little inside on the outside as Omar liked to say.

"But the harmless flirting is ok right?"  
"Walt?"

His persistence was admirable and tiresome, Omar just couldn't help himself when beautiful women were in the vicinity. It would have been cruel to stop the man's natural inclinations too much, so I nodded my approval. Contented that he could continue tormenting Vic, the condition of my face was back on the immediate agenda.

"Anyway, you can't go on TV like that, Sarah, could you come over put some make-up on that, this and ... here, uh yeah whatever you gotta do to fix it."

A young woman in her twenties came towards me with her bag of wares while Omar pointed unceremoniously at various spots on my face where red splotches were most obvious. Before Sarah could manhandle me with her brush and powdered concoctions, I gestured for her to stop her ministrations.

"Uh what? TV? ... When you said lunch, you didn't mention anything about it being on TV. Who are these people?"

"Surprise!"

I had grown to dislike the word, it usually accompanied great pain and suffering on my part.

"You're going to be on an episode of Top Chef."

"What's that?"

"I dunno, I thought you would, a cooking competition of some kind. One of those reality shows on cable. My agent said it would be good publicity.

"Agent?"

"Yeah, you remember Janet that hollywood scout? Her friend the agent said I had a future playing a hunter in movies. They needed a rural setting, so I offered my cabin ... they said it was rustically perfect!"

"If they wanted rustic, they should see my cabin heh. So why are Vic and I here?"

"Well they needed a few prominent locals for the show, those chefs over there are gonna to cook us lunch and we're going to say whether it's good or terrible, then those judges there will decide who wins the round. The best gets a reward and the worst chef gets booted out to loserville."

"The only prominent locals I like around here are you, Vic, Henry and Lucian, you know except for the rich fellas, they were all busy."

"The gave me a list of types they were looking for, a curmudgeonly old coot, that's Lucian. A restauranteur, Henry serves food at the bar so that's close enough, also he's into all this fancy weird food, we'll need someone to explain what we're eatin'. And a beautiful woman with attitude, that's Vic.

"I think you made that last one up."

"She adds color to an otherwise bland table of men wearing plaid. And there's you."

"What description did I fill?"

"Nothin', I knew Vic wouldn't come if you didn't."

"Nice to feel wanted."

"Oh it all worked out, they were plenty impressed when I said the Sheriff was coming, until they see your face that is."

"What's wrong with your face?" Vic came from behind us and snaked her arm around mine. There were only a few Sundays in between when we both enjoyed a day off together.

"Consequences."

"Oh that." Her smile blazed from end to end feigning ignorance.

"This looks like a lot more than lunch Omar."

She looked breathtaking in a dark blue dress with her hair down swooping over her shoulders. She had worn the same dress to the election day rally and I recall having had a difficult time keeping my eyes off her that day.

"You're gonna be on TV! Cmon I want you to meet one of the hosts."

We approached a robust bald man dressed in a smart shirt with a sports jacket and jeans, he was around fifty and about the same height as Vic. He saw us coming towards him out of the corner of his eye and swiveled around to greet us with a bright smile ready made for television. A glint of familiarity livened his advance when his eyes met Vic.


	3. Chapter 3

"Tommy? Tommy C?!" She was first to embrace him with a hug that just about squeezed all the air out of his chest.

"You gotta be kidding me? Vic Moretti?! What in the world?" They held each other at arms length to examine how each had changed since they last met.

"How long has it been ... uh 15 years? And you sure have filled out in all the right places, you look gorgeous!"

"Thanks Tommy, and you've filled out mostly in the middle, you must be doing well!"

"Not bad, got a beautiful wife, a couple of kids, restaurants and this show. Can't complain."

"Well, my brother was an idiot for not going through with that restaurant idea with you."

"That's ancient history, I met up with him last year in Philly, told me you were a deputy in the wild west, didn't mention Wyoming though."

Omar had already left the scene to harass the crew moving and touching his most prized dead things, so I middled on my boots standing a few feet behind Vic while she caught up. I surveyed the busy cameramen shuffling between chefs to capture the contestants cooking at a manic pace in the makeshift outdoor kitchen. Vic looked over her shoulder to check if I was still there, she grabbed for my hand and lead me over to where she stood.

"Oh hey I want you to meet Walt Longmire, he's the Sheriff of this county. Walt this is an old friend of my brother Al, Tom Collichio."

"Sheriff ... so glad you could make it." He had a firm handshake, one that told me he had worked hard to get to his current station in life.

"Walt will be just fine."

"... I was going to ask what happened to your face, but I see you're with a Moretti so no explanations necessary. Haha!"

"Oh Vic, I got someone on the crew you might remember ... YO FRANK! There's someone here you might know."

"Who? I don't know any ..." A dashing man in his late thirties peeked around a truck full of equipment. He had a neat coif of dark hair and sharp features. Frank seemed to have a level of grooming that would have required significant preparation time in the morning.

"OH MY GOD?! No, what? Really?! ... FRANKIE!"

If Vic's exuberant greeting was anything to go by, Frankie was a little more than an old friend. She propelled herself into his equally animated hello, lifting her off the ground with his arms around her waist through a bevy of brief pecks on the cheek and a kiss that lingered a little too long for my liking, on the lips. There was an intimacy in their contact that triggered an unfamiliar feeling, perhaps a primal twinge from a vestigial past, I had an urge to club him over the head for absolutely no good reason at all.

"They used to be an item back in Philly, don't worry it was a long time ago. Why don't you take a seat at the table, we'll probably start filming soon."

"Thanks Tom." He pointed me towards the patio where a long table with a bench on each side had been set up with enough seating for a dozen people.

I made the slow walk up the slight incline from the lawn to the table. Henry intercepted me before I reached my destination, saving me from what would have been a less than graceful collision with a large potted plant. I was still keeping half an eye on Vic and her friend.

"The condition of your face tells me Vic has delivered on your punishment."

"You were in on it?"

"She asked me if there was any chance you could die from your allergy, I had to give an honest answer. Besides, Vic told me what you did, I am taking her side."

"Taking her side? You've known me nearly all my life, doesn't seniority mean anything?"

"In this case, right and wrong were clear, you did not choose wisely. And now that I have witnessed her wrath, I will be taking her side on most things from now on."

I tightened my lips at his indifference towards my plight from both woman and shellfish.

"Why did you agree to this anyway?"

"It is Top Chef."

His matter of fact answer told me I should have known the significance but even best friends were never fully aware of the others' idiosyncrasies.

"It is one of my favorite television programs. How do you not know that? I have been watching it for years now. Also, I get a free meal from some of the best chefs from around the country, it is a win win. That, and he promised to give the leftover elk to the Red Pony."

"Where is Vic?"

"She's over there talking to an old acquaintance."

"He does not look very old. Who is he?"

"From my brief introduction, by brief I mean when she left my side and pounced on him while shouting his name, which happens to be Frank ... or Frankie." There might have been a hint of disdain in my voice as I mentioned his name.

"She did not introduce you?"

"No."

"I see."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Why?"

"No, I am sure you have nothing to worry about."

"Do you think that's important?" His expression did not inspire me with confidence, should I be worried about Frankie? My gut was giving me a bad feeling, then again I could just be hungry. It was past lunchtime and we still hadn't had anything to eat.

"Something smells delicious, we should go see what they are making for lunch."

We walked towards the bench where a familiar face was already seated, his glance was planted firmly in the direction of a tall, slender and exotic looking woman.

"Walt, Henry."

"Lucian, I'm surprised to see you here."

"Are you kidding it's Top Chef!"

"He does not know what it is."

"I didn't know you were a connoisseur of fine dining Lucian."

"You think I'm here for the food? Forget the food. I came to meet Padma Lakshmi ..." He tilted his head in the direction of the woman he had been ogling at earlier.

"One of the most beautiful women in the world ... as voted by People Magazine in 2007."

Both Henry and I glanced at him slightly puzzled and queried his choice of reading material.

"What? Not intellectual enough for ya? IQ points at the facility aren't nearly as impressive as knowing which celebrity did what on their weekend."


	4. Chapter 4

"Are you just gonna keep gawking at those two?"

There was little to do while we waited for the food to arrive, so my attention was subconsciously drawn to Vic and Frank, both of whom were still absorbed in their trip down memory lane. I had tried to keep my glances brief and nonchalant but Lucian was ever observant to my habits.

"I saw the way eye your twitched when Vic jumped at the man like a monkey at its favorite tree. Yes, it was that obvious even from way over here."

"I can't deny that it caused a reaction."

"Your amygdala must have lit up like a caveman! Bet it took everything in your common sense to stop your hand reaching for that Colt of yours and shooting him between his set roguish of green eyes."

"Roguish?"

"Yep, I got here early and Padma hadn't arrived yet so there was nothin' for me to do. I had a powwow with some of the crew and that one ... Frank, he stood out."

Maybe it wasn't hunger afterall, my gut feeling for the man was that of caution, Lucian seemed to agree. It wasn't right to judge a man by the way he looked but sometimes that's all you had to go on.

"He's got chips falling from his shoulders like boulders in a rockslide, so you keep your twitchy eye on him, cos I got my eyes on Padma over there."

After nearly an hour of waiting, there was finally a convergence of both people and food at our table. Vic joined us and she took a seat directly opposite me, her disposition had certainly lightened since this morning.

"Had a nice chat?"

"Yeah, it was great to see Frankie again after all this time. You know we dated back in Philly for two years."

"Tom mentioned something to that effect. Serious I guess?"

"It was pretty serious ... but I was young things got complicated so we called it quits and he left for Europe to become a chef."

"Is he a chef now?"

"No, he had a restaurant for a few years but things went south. He had some money problems afterwards so Tommy was nice enough to offer him this job food wrangling for the show."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"It's not nothing, I can see that brain of yours running 300 miles an hour and your eye is kinda twitchy."

Maybe I should get some advice about my twitchy eye from Doc Bloomfield, it had a pattern of giving me away at the most inopportune times.

"I just have a bad feeling about him."

"You haven't even met him ... by the way sorry about that, I was going to introduce you but I just got carried away with old times."

"I could tell."

"Are you ... are you jealous Walt Longmire?" She lowered her voice and whispered her revelation.

I was never sure if it was a good thing when she invoked my full name unless she was making introductions. Though judging by her mood it sounded like a playful taunt at my insecurity.

"I just don't think Frank is who you knew back in the day."

"He's a friend Walt, play nice."

"I'm always nice."

"Sure, like a linebacker playing offense." Vic smirked in the way she usually did when she wanted me to know there was nothing to worry about.

We were interrupted by the plates of food being delivered to our table by a parade of chefs. It was like church, every plate was accompanied by a sermon delivered in a foreign language. Each chef rattled off about a dozen ingredients but all I could see were maybe half of what was described. That was the thing about fancy food, it tasted great but there was never enough of it.

Between bites there just seemed to be a lot of talking and not enough eating, I was still starving. The judges seemed to taste things in the food that I couldn't make out, so I did what most would do in my situation, nodded my head in agreement while my thoughts were elsewhere.

Vic was sitting opposite me at the table and all I could think about was how radiant she was in a natural setting. The yellow cast of sunshine made her glow on a background of vibrant green. She must have seen me staring when she glanced at me and smiled which made the view even better. I continued my vigil and watched as her expression slowly turned into concern when she thought there was something wrong.

"Have I got food in my teeth?"

"No."

"In my hair?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"I was thinking how good you look today?"

"Just today?"

"Everyday."

"Longmire! One day all your sweet talking is gonna get you into trouble. I've seen how Marion the librarian flirts with you on pancake day."

"Marion? Really? I'll have to pay more attention next pancake day."

"You should write a book 'Women are from Venus and Cowboys are from Wyoming' with the byline 'How to get women without really trying" ... sell like hotcakes."

"Hey Walt ..."

"Yeah Omar?"

"If you ever write that book, could I get an advance copy?"

I was about to answer when the man next to Omar, a food critic called Greg, caught my concern. He had sweat beading down his forehead and his pallor was decidedly not normal.

"Greg Are you alright?" Having turned my attention to the critic and his worsening condition made the others do the same.

Before he could answer, his body began to shiver and proceeded to fall heavily onto his plate convulsing with froth forming at the mouth. Henry sprang into action, with help from the others he lifted him off his seat and onto the ground where he checked for vital signs. I kneeled beside him and checked his air passage thinking maybe he choked. We began CPR but it looked like the man was already dead when his head hit the amuse-bouche. After fifteen minutes, it was clear our attempts at resuscitation had failed, there was still no pulse.

Omar came running out of the house, "I called for an ambulance, is he ok?"

"Thanks Omar, but it's too late, he's gone."

"Damn! Did he choke or somethin'?"

"No, doesn't look like it. If I were to take a guess it looks like he's been poisoned."

My assumption caused quite a response from crowd that gathered around the dead man, there was a synchronised bellow behind me as I conferred with Omar.

"POISON?!"


	5. Chapter 5

It was never a good time to discuss poison in any setting but especially when food had just been eaten. Everyone was corralled in Omar's lounge area and the cacophony of questions mounted. The how, what and why of murderous intentions followed the line of questioning from the group of twenty people.

"Everyone just needs to take a breath. It's hard to say without blood work what actually killed him, we'll have to wait for the results for anything conclusive. Since no one else has gotten sick, we'll take it as an isolated event."

The ambulance had arrived a few hours earlier and taken the body for an urgent autopsy. Doc Bloomfield would hopefully have the results by tomorrow morning.

"I'm going to ask everyone to stay calm and please stay where you are, no one is allowed to leave until we sort this out. We expect to have some indication by morning as to cause of death. So everyone here will be staying over. If you need anything two of my deputies will be over in the back to answer any questions."

I left the rowdy crowd to Branch and Ferg while Vic and I pulled Tom and Padma aside for a chat outside on the terrace.

"Do you know anyone here that might want to harm Greg?"

They both shook their heads, bewildered by the events that had just taken place. "No, Greg's a guest judge and never been on before. One of the regulars had the flu, so he was doing us a favor."

After a pause, Padma indicated perhaps ill-feeling for the critic was not uncommon. "Everyone knows him by reputation of course. His reviews can be a very harsh but chefs are used to that kind of thing really."

"Who knew him or knew that he was going to be on the show?" Vic asked.

"Me, Padma and the other two judges. The production assistants knew and that's it, we don't like a lot of people knowing cause then the contestants won't have the element of surprise during the show. It's a very hush hush until the actual day."

"Would anyone here have a grudge against Greg?"

"Hmmm maybe ... Frankie wasn't happy about Greg being on the show when he saw him today ... but what happened between them was a long time ago."

"Could you elaborate on that?"

"About three years ago, Frankie opened restaurant in LA and the reviews weren't flattering, Greg wrote a particularly savage one. His reviews carry a lot of weight in that city, he can make or break you with one review. Anyway, a year later he just couldn't get it going and had to shut it down. Word is that he burned through a lot of his own cash and plenty of the banks, he's still paying off the whole thing and will be for some time. That's why I offered him this job ... "

"And?"

"He kinda blamed Greg for having to close the place ... and last year he confronted him at a party and may have said some things ..."

"What did he say exactly?"

"I didn't hear all of it but he said ... he said something like '... choke on that mignardise so I can watch you keel over and die ...' you get the gist of it."

"What in the world is a mignardise?"

"Oh it's a bite-sized dessert, beautiful to taste as it is to look at. We were sampling an assortment that day."

"I see." Even chef threats were fancy.

"Look Sheriff it was a while ago ... take that into consideration."

"I will and thanks. If you could go back in there and try to keep everyone calm that would be a great help."

Vic could see my bias rising to the surface when Frank's name was mentioned.

"I know what you're thinking Walt. He's not a killer, I know him."

"Maybe he's not who you thought he was, after all, you haven't seen him in years, people change."

"I don't want you to jumping to conclusions if you're not sure. Whatever Frankie and I had is fond memory and that's all, but he's still a friend, so let's get this right, Ok?"

"Yep." She didn't look convinced.

Vic went back inside, leaving me to my thoughts, she was right I couldn't let my personal feelings taint the facts. She knew my inclination to dislike him was borne out of some irrational suspicion, but it didn't negate the fact was he was a suspect with a motive.

"I knew there was somethin' fishy about that guy." A rusty old voice grizzled from the tree next to me.

"How long have you been hiding over there?"

"Long enough to know that you should listen to your gut when your heart is trying to drown it out." Lucian was hidden by the girth of the trunk that stood guard outside the cabin.

"Why are you out here anyway?"

"Have you seen how many people are in there? It's a giant petri dish of germs, flu season is just around the corner."

"I didn't know you were a hypochondriac?" We both moved to sit on the wooden bench, it had been a long day and it was still going.

"Hypochondriac? My age group is the prime target for death by bugs. We all gotta die sometime but I'll be damned if I die at the hands of some microscopic murderers."

"How do you want to go out then?"

"Oh I don't know, whatever it is just make it quick. Remember that movie Shane? When I was a younger I used to think that was the perfect way for a cowboy to go out. Riding off into the sunset slumped over on his horse neither dead nor alive in the minds of those he left behind. But then I grew up and surmised that he probably fell off the horse at the back of that hill and lay there dyin' a slow agonizing death, with buzzards picking out his eyes for breakfast by mornin' and leavin' the rest for the coyotes."

"You definitely have put a lot of thought into that."

"You know Walt, we're both kinda lone cowboys biding our time on this range, looking to set things right before our last ride. I've done my bit but you're still in the thick of it. Make the most of it while you can, don't count sand on a beach."

"Huh?"

"I don't know, I'm old, I make shit up that sounds wise and people eat it up like I was Moses coming down the mountain. It's one of the perks of being old. Just stop looking for the perfect time, there ain't never gonna be one. That woman loves you, even if you haven't said so."

"How the hell do you know that? Vic told you?"

"I guessed ... and I can see it on her face when she talks about you."

"So why haven't you? Do I have to give you my dumbass speech again?"

"I guess it's not something that needed to be said, we both know how we feel about each other ... well the time never seemed right. We're kinda similar in that respect."

"That's the thing about time. We're so busy livin', never feels like it's passing. Before you know it the suns setting and you're dead."

With that cheerful thought in mind, we sat and watched the last light dip into the back of the mountain.


	6. Chapter 6

"Where did Lucian go?"

Vic came back out onto the terrace and joined me on the bench where Lucian and I had been chewing the cud on the limitations of time.

"I sent him home, his favorite nurse is bringing his meds tonight."

She sat down next to me with a plate of food and two forks.

"I hope it's not the one that filed the harassment complaint against him. Here have some of this, it's not bad."

She offered me some food on a fork but I eyed her suspiciously before taking a bite.

"Don't worry, it came out of a box in the frozen food section of Omar's fridge. Anyway, I don't like repeating myself ... What were you two talking about?"

"You."

"Did he talk about my boobs again? I swear every time he sees me ..."

"Nope."

"Oh, then what?"

"Us."

Our eyes met, maybe there was some truth to Lucian's advice, there would never be a right time. I began to speak in my own stuttered manner when my nemesis struck again, Vic's phone rang.

"Hey Doc what's up? Yeah, he's right here, I'll put you on speaker."

"Yeah Doc, what do you have?"

"I thought you'd like an update on what we have so far. We haven't finished but we did find ethylene glycol in his stomach contents."

"Ethylene glycol? Like in engine coolant?"

"Yup, it has a sweet taste so it's a lot easier to mask in say, wine, which we also found in significant quantity ... a white wine, maybe a dessert wine since the sugar content was quite high. We're still doing some analysis but thought you should know, just in case there's more tainted wine over there."

"Thanks Doc."

"I think we should go find the rest of that wine."

Vic's expression dampened as she fiddled with the food on the plate, there was something she wasn't telling me.

"I was questioning the two production assistants Tom mentioned earlier about who had the most contact with the food ... and wine."

"Who?"

.  
.

We went inside to speak with Mitch, one of the senior production assistants Vic had questioned earlier.

"Frank's the food wrangler and that includes the wine. The judges like to sample the local wineries when they're available, so we got him to drive over to a winery in Cody yesterday to get a few boxes of white."

"Where's the wine now?"

"Omar told him to put it all down in the cellar."

"OMAR!" I called him over to where we were.

"What's wrong now, someone else die?"

"You have a wine cellar Omar?"

"Are you gonna think less of me Walt?"

"No."

"Then yes, I have a wine cellar."

He led Vic and I through a door and down some steps. I hadn't been to this part of the house before let alone knowing there was even a basement.

"But you don't even like wine."

"I've since acquired a palate for it ... all the other guys were getting one so I thought it'd be nice to have one to show off ... ok fine, the ladies seem impressed by it, are you happy now?"

I shook my head at the lengths he would go to impress a woman.

"Is that the stare you use to get confessions cause it really works."

Vic was amazed at the trail of mounted sconces that continued underground." Geez Omar, do you have to put these animal heads everywhere? Don't you get nightmares?"

"They're like old friends Vicky ... they keep me company." He pulled out a set of keys from his pocket.

"You lock the door?"

"I've got good stuff in there."

"Who else has a key?"

"Just me and that Frank guy from the show, he handles all the food, gave him my spare yesterday."

Vic stopped Omar before he could use the key, she turned the knob on the door and it was unlocked.

"Goddammit! I asked him to keep the door ..."

Before he could finish, a blurred shadow rushed out from the darkened room, taking Vic and Omar by surprise, knocking them over. I was standing behind them and as a former line backer in school, I pushed him back, hard. The force took him off balance as he stumbled backwards into a bulwark of antlers. Part of a horn now protruded from his left shoulder, the curse of a tall man, he reached the height of mounted sconces with antlers sharpened and honed for display.

"Aaaaaaahhhh!" Frank yelled out in pain as he stayed skewered to the wall, not moving for fear of doing more damage. Vic and I went over to un-stake him from the avenging animal head.

"Aw hell Walt, that was an antique ... now it's got people goo all over it. Why couldn't you have pushed him over to the one on the left, never liked that one."

He always did have an odd sense of priorities. "Omar, could you call the ambulance again, uh I think he's gonna need stitches ... and a first aid kit."

We stemmed the bleeding and patched him up best with could before the ambulance arrived. He was in a great deal of pain, I saw it as an opportunity to question him, hopefully, he would be in too much discomfort to lie.

"Frank, did you spike Greg's wine with engine coolant?"

He looked over at me and then back to Vic in a silent plea for compassion and leniency.

"I ... I didn't mean to kill him Vic, I didn't ... I wanted to make him sick a little. Just to get him back for what he did to me ... he destroyed me Vic."

He started sobbing into her shoulder. "I know, I know Frankie."

"I swear I only put a tiny bit of coolant in his wine ... I checked on the net. Honest I did ..."

There was sadness in her eyes, to see a man she used to care for crumble this way. We waited for him to collect himself and brought him back upstairs when the ambulance arrived.

"Hey Doc, what are you doing here so late?" I caught a ride with the ambulance. We finished the blood work and and chemical analysis on his stomach contents."

"What did you find?"

"The ethylene glycol didn't kill him, there wasn't enough of it, nausea and vomiting maybe, but it wasn't fatal."

"WHAT?" Vic, Frank and I, timed our curiosity precisely.

"He died from severe anaphylactic shock, an acute allergy to bees or wasps. So we checked his body and there was no sign of bites, which was odd because from his blood sample, the victim had enough antibodies as if he was stung by a swarm."

"The only item ingested in enough quantity that could have had an effect was the wine."

"So what are you saying, he was allergic to wine?"

"Yes, in a way. To this particular vintage ... we tested it for venom proteins and it was in the wine."

"But how?"

"Overripe grapes attract bees and wasps, and if they happen to get pressed along with the grapes during processing that's how you get the venom in the wine."

"But don't proteins break down in the wine?"

"Yes, given time to mature, that's why this isn't more of a problem. The wine our victim drank was pressed recently and not aged. We'll have to call the vineyard to make sure. Do you still have the bottles, I'll need to take them to the lab."

"Yeah sure, Omar can show you where it is."

"So I didn't kill him?" Frank looked relieved and his demeanor lifted.

"Nope, but you're still in trouble for spiking his drink with coolant."

This was one time where being right would have meant sadness for Vic, if being wrong meant she wasn't, then it felt right.


	7. Chapter 7

After an exhaustive day of almost murders and fatal allergies, we slept in to the quiet of the cabin's surrounds. It was almost noon when we stirred and felt the pangs of lunchtime. For safety reasons, I decided to make us something to quell the roar from our bellies. My partner in crime offered but I wasn't quite ready to trust her in the kitchen just yet. Vic sat at the piano tinkering on the keys, contemplating.

"I think you're the most normal person I've ever been with ... that's saying something considering all the murder, mystery and mayhem that follows you around." She alliterated for emphasis.

"Sounds almost like a compliment, I'll take what I can get."

"Besides, you're the only one that ever gets my jokes, even if most of the time you're laughing on the inside."

"Well, you're the only one that knows when I'm actually telling a joke so I trump you on that front."

"Makes me wonder if they were ever normal to begin with or did going out with me make their cheese to slide of their crackers?"

"Huh?" I moved from the kitchen with my humble offering of food while she explained her cryptic analogy.

"I'm trying to stick to the food theme ... you know one plate short of a picnic, his cocopop snapped, there's no butter in his crust ... What? ... nothing? I'll have you know I put a lot of effort into those ..."

"How quickly does this Moretti effect take hold?" Sharing a grin and smirk I handed her a sandwich, she scooted over to make room on the piano seat for me.

"Ha. Ha. Just wait till another off kilter boyfriend comes out of the woodwork." Vic made light of the situation but her encounter with Ed Gorski still haunted her in the shadows and darkened hallways where danger appeared to lurk.

"Play something for me." She brushed her fingers over the keys, an invitation for me to take her mind away from thoughts that she would rather not entertain.

"I'm a little out of practice ... uh I haven't played since um ... Martha got sick."

"Unless you want me to deafen you with my repertoire of 'Mary had a little lamb' over and over ... and over ..."

"Alright, but you've been warned." I extended my fingers over the keys, wondering if I still remembered how it all worked. I warmed up with a few chords and it felt good. Vic continued on her train of thought.

"You know when we first met, I felt instantly comfortable with you, like we'd known each other for years, I don't get that with many people. And when we worked together, we didn't really have to say much to know what the other was thinking. It was weird."

"Yep."

"You know what I think?"

"I always want to know what you think?"

"That we met before in a previous life and we'll probably meet again in the next one. Moving through time together, forever."

"You've been watching that time-travelling TV show again?"

"Yes, but it's a nice thought isn't it?"

"I would bend time and space for you any day, physics be damned."

"Maybe next time, we'll meet in high-school, you must've been cute in your football uniform. Never did get to date a football player, plenty of hockey players though, basketball, lacrosse ..."

"I get the idea." Her lament didn't require further illumination. She leaned into my shoulder laughing while I returned my attention to the keys. "What are you playing?"

"Nothing yet ... would you like to make a request?"

"I'm guessing some Metallica would be out of the question."

"Who?"

"Just play me anything."

I entered the chorus of a familiar song and began to hum the melody to accompany the slow rhythm of the chords. I could feel her eyes on me as we shared brief knowing glances, both of us recalling the lyrics. Henry liked to remind me often that singing was not a talent I needed to practice, mostly because I was never going to get any better. But my own words had failed to express how I felt, in this case borrowing some well worn lyrics from Van Morrison might not be out of place. So I began to sing or rather sound out the words from the song.

"... Have I told you lately that I love you ... have I told you there's no one above you ... fill my heart with gladness, take away my sadness, ease my troubles ..."

I stopped playing and moved my hand to tilt her chin towards me, I wanted to see her eyes, "... that's what you do." My lips brushed against hers with the last line in the chorus.

What began as a slow and intense kiss would not end there, it never did with us, our embrace quickly escalated into a burning desire. We escaped the confines of the piano but not before crashing into the treble section of the keyboard, producing an unholy sound. She climbed onto me and I lifted her from the timbre of black and white, blindly making our way towards the bedroom door. But before we could continue any further, the sound of my undoing rang out, it put a halt to our lustful intentions. I would have to disconnect all the phones if Vic and I were ever to get time alone.

She pulled away, "You have to get it."

"Why?"

"Cause you're the Sheriff."

Annoyed by the intrusion, I answered with my customary greeting, "WHAT?!"

"WALT! You gotta help me!"

"Omar? What's wrong?"

"That moose! It found me, rampaging through my garden."

"Where are you?"

"Uh ... up a tree ... it surprised me! I was outside mindin' my own business and it starts coming at me from a distance."

"Is anyone else in danger?"

"No, it's just me over here ..."

"Okay then ... I'll be over soon."

"Hurry!" I hung up the phone, putting it back on the receiver and pulled the cord from the socket.

"What's wrong now?"

"Moose came back and seems kinda angry. It's running amok in his garden. Remembers him maybe."

"Must've seen all his dead brethren on the walls. I'm rooting for the moose this time."

"By the way, I noticed you got a new phone? What was wrong with the old one?"

"uh ... the battery ... it wasn't charging ... so I got a new one."

"Did you think it bothered me to hear Martha's voice on the answering machine?"

"Um ... that was a possibility."

She held my face in her hands as she often did when the subject turned serious and she wanted to make sure I was listening.

"The man I know today ... he's a collection of memories, heartaches and happiness that came before me. That's the man I chose to be with, so don't hide who you are ... ok? You keep Martha on that answering machine as long as you want. While you're at it you can put the tea box back on the shelf in the kitchen too."

I had my hands braced around her waist and may have held on just a little tighter after her reflection. "Do you think you can find true love twice in a lifetime?" Maybe Barlow Connally was right, my favored position in life was considerably sappier than most.

"I don't know ... I've only ever found it once."

A smile reached across her lovely face in a way that would have sunk a thousand ships.

"Now where were we?"

"Don't we have to save Omar?"

"He's up a tree. No immediate danger."

I rushed my arms around her and carried her through the threshold of my bedroom door. Having surprised her with my deftly executed play, she hollered at my triumph with her customary catch cry.

"Longmire!"

END

_**Author note:** This will be my last contribution for a little while. I hope you've enjoyed the fics as much as I've enjoyed writing them. It still amazes me that people from all corners of the world are reading these stories, so Hello World!_

_ I'm still checking messages so if you have a question, or you miss me lol just drop me a PM or a review, I'll always read them. Speaking of reviews, thanks again to everyone who reviewed, I'm always eager to find out what you all think :) _

_*Special thanks to reader Stef, I haven't been able to message you to thank you. _


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